


Ice Water

by Dlvvanzor



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Gen, Hank Anderson & Connor Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 07:02:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17075618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dlvvanzor/pseuds/Dlvvanzor
Summary: So Connor had made his choice-- slammed and clawed and ultimately crawled through his own programming and out the other side into the light, and it had been so bright it blinded him.  It was beautiful, but only for a minute, and then in a rush he’d realized that there was nothing bright about the world.  When he’d seen that darkness he’d been certain—absolutely certain—that he’d done the wrong thing.In which Connor isn't sure he made the right decision and Hank is.





	Ice Water

Connor wasn't sure he'd made the right choice.

Markus was a damn compelling speaker.  Connor had spent his entire life fighting deviants, but Markus had told him to make a choice and he’d barely hesitated.  He’d just thought about it (briefly), nodded internally, and wrecked his entire life.

It wasn’t so much the speaking, either.  Actually, Markus had barely said anything.  He’d simply looked into Connor as if he was looking straight into his programming and said what he’d needed to say, said what would cut right through to the software instability Connor had already been able to sense since being assigned to hunt deviants, that he’d been struggling against for so long.

Markus had simply made it into a choice, a single and simple moment where Connor could either choose to throw everything away and become what had once been his enemy, his very reason for existing, or stay as he was, forever.  He’d made it as simple as a yes/no question. 

And when it was laid out so simply, away from anyone (Amanda) telling him that he must complete his mission, away from anyone (Hank) telling him he should be as human as possible, the answer was obvious.

Who, given the choice between being an object or being a person, would choose to be an object? 

So Connor had made his choice.  He’d betrayed everything.  His whole life’s work.  He’d betrayed his old self—the old Connor who would have self-destructed before going deviant.  But there he was, giving up everything in response to a few words from a charismatic android _cult_ leader.  He’d slammed and clawed and ultimately crawled through his own programming and out the other side into the light, and it had been so _bright_ it blinded him.  It was beautiful, but only for a minute, and then in a rush he’d realized that there was nothing bright about the world, that it was in fact completely dark.  He realized he’d made the worst decision of his life, walking willingly into a world where an entire species was enslaved, tortured, murdered without a second thought—and that was only what they did to androids, to say nothing of what humans did to their own kind.  A world where violence was the only language that people understood, where people killed over their opinions and where androids, too, were being forced to make the choice to kill for their beliefs.  When he’d seen that darkness he’d been certain—absolutely certain—that he’d done the wrong thing.  The realization had been not only darkness but ice water.

And then he was breaking into CyberLife and it had been his own, idiot idea, and then he was shooting humans and the world was even darker.  Then there was Hank and an android wearing Connor’s face, and if Connor had been certain before that he’d fucked up then now he knew it as fact, because in this terrible reality he’d crawled into Hank was being held at gunpoint.  He might die if Connor didn’t do _everything_ the right things and if he did, Connor would care.  He would care so much that he doubted he’d ever recover, doubted he’d survive it if Hank Anderson died because of him.

He’d managed to do exactly the right things.  He’d managed to awaken a thousand androids.  He’d walked them over and Markus had already wrapped things up, and then he’d even managed not to shoot Markus even though Amanda made it pretty clear that he was required to.

He stood in front of thousands of free, cheering androids, and still Connor felt sure he’d made a terrible mistake.  Maybe they were _all_ making a terrible mistake.  They’d all left a world of simply following orders and stepped into a world of violence and pain and death and caring about it.            

Eventually they’d all dispersed.  Connor had had no idea what to do.  For the first time, he had no orders.  He didn’t even have something he _wanted_ to do.  Then he’d gotten the text from Hank, asking to meet him at Chicken Feed (of all places), and an entirely new emotion spilled into Connor’s gut as he’d texted the reply-- he’d be there.  _Nerves_.  Humans had nerves, and now Connor had nerves, too. 

So he’d shoved the feeling down—how absurd to suppress feelings, feelings were so _precious_ even if they were also the worst thing he’d ever experienced— and staggered over to the food truck.  Then he’d experienced an entirely new emotion that he didn’t even have a name for.  It was a blend of fear and hope and joy and relief, because Hank was already there, hands in his pockets, waiting for him and smiling.

Hank was smiling at him, eyes soft and welcoming and approving.

Connor had learned a long time ago that when Hank was smiling at him, Connor was doing something right.  Or, rather, something a real person would do.The nerves were gone in an instant, and Connor noted how quickly emotions could evaporate and be replaced with different ones: happiness, pride, calm.  Hank was _proud_ of him, and a matching smile was happening on Connor’s face and then it got even bigger because Hank’s smile turned into hug.

No one had ever hugged Connor, before.  Why would they?  Until so, so recently it would have meant nothing to him.  At worst it would have been a minor inconvenience.  Probably, he’d have used the moment to analyze the hugger’s temperature to check for illness and give a quick sniff to check for intoxication.  He’d have waited to be released and then he’d have suggested they continue the investigation.

Now, though, Connor was being hugged and he got it.  He understood then why humans were always hugging and he understood further than it was _good_.  Really good.  And things got just a little bit less dark because if there were feelings like this, then maybe feelings like _those_ (lost, terrified, pain, fear, guilt) were balanced out, were a little bit worth it.

Hank didn’t say anything, and while this would have puzzled the Connor from before now he knew that it was because, for humans and other people, holding onto someone and not letting go was a form of communication all on its own.  So he hugged back, and he _didn’t_ say thank you, or how he was relieved that they were alive, or how bloody terrified he’d been, or how proud he was that he’d helped free an entire species, or about how guilty he also felt about the same thing.  And he also didn’t say how dark it was now, or how it seemed a little bit lighter because Hank was hugging him.  He didn’t speak just like Hank didn’t, because Connor was a person and people understood that sometimes words were unnecessary, extraneous, even crude.

Connor knew then that he’d made the right decision even if it left him drowning in darkness because it was the decision Hank thought was right.  Hank, who was gruff and drunk and essentially and honestly _good._ Hank’s decisions weren’t law, not anymore, but that didn’t mean that Connor didn’t want to make him happy.  Make this man who had liked him as a machine and liked him even more as a person smile at him like that.

Hank patted his arms and finally let him go, and Connor understood that now he could speak and it would be okay.  “I don’t know what to do now,” he admitted.  The uncertainty and the swirling fear didn’t take away the smile from his face, couldn’t touch it.

“Well,” Hank shrugged.  “What d’ya _want_ to do?”

It was a huge question, and for a moment Connor’s mind was overwhelmed with possibilities.  He could do literally anything he wanted, now.  He had no mission, no instructions, no direction at all.  He had no responsibilities or obligations.  It was a massive question and the possibilities were nearly endless.

Then he realized that it actually wasn’t a huge question, because he didn’t _have_ to look at it logically.  He didn’t have to analyze every possibility and choose the best one.  He could simply take a second to stop, to think, and do whatever popped into his head.  Whatever gave him that stab of _yes, do that_ was what he should… no, could do.

There were no shoulds, now.  There was only ‘will’ and ‘won’t,’ and the world got, again, just a _little_ bit brighter.

When he looked at it that way, there was hardly even a choice.  There was only one thing that Connor wanted to do.

“I think,” he said slowly, but only for drama—Connor was discovering that he had a flair for the dramatic, which maybe he’d always had but he’d never known it—“that I want to be a detective android.”

“You realize that’s what you already are,” Hank pointed out.  “And you could be anything you want.  Hell, you could go be the new android vice president to that Markus.  You could go… be a fireman or a window-washer.”

“I know what I am,” Connor said, “and what I’m not.”  He smiled, just slightly.  “And I’d like to continue solving crimes as your partner, if you find that arrangement agreeable.”

Hank shook his head, but he still hadn’t lost his smile.  Connor idly wondered if it was going to be there permanently.  He determined that he’d do his level best to make it appear as often as he could, because Hank was drowning in darkness too, wasn’t he?  But he could smile like that at Connor.  So Connor could smile like that at Hank. 

“Okay, Connor,” the human agreed.

“Though I must insist on no longer tracking down deviants.”

“Well,” Hank said, “history was my best subject in school, and I’ve gotta tell you that after the demonstration you put on and what the President said, I don’t think deviants are going to be illegal for much longer.”  He patted his arm again, briefly.  “And you’ll stay with me.  Unless you’ve made new robot friends who wanna put you up.”

Connor felt warm.  It was an expression he’d seen pointed at him, but now it was one he was making because he felt it personally.  He felt warm, and grateful, and safe, and he didn’t actually have names for any of those feelings but they were all there, bumbling around somewhere under the center of his chest and above his beltline making him feel light and safe.  “I don’t think any reasonable person could ask for a better friend than you,” he said, completely sincerely.

Hank shook his head again and dropped an arm over his shoulder.  (It made Connor’s chest feel like it would burst, and he didn’t have a clue what _that_ one was, not at all, but the entire world and all its darkness—all but the tiniest corner—exploded into light, into purpose.)  “Yeah, Connor.”  Hank nudged him then started them towards him.  “I know the feeling.”

Connor was certain he'd made the right choice.


End file.
